Happiness
by Megara79
Summary: After Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant, Kathryn tries to come to terms with being home. Written for VAMBs Spring Fling 09.


**Title: Happiness  
Author: Megara79  
Series: Star Trek: Voyager  
Rating: K  
Summary: After _Voyager's_ return to the Alpha Quadrant, Kathryn tries to come to terms with being home.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**As always; thanks to: Evil Shall Giggle. You are the best!!! **

Apparently, this is it.

The debriefings have come to an end, and she has officially relinquished her command. It's over. It's taken the better part of seven years, but they've made it, they're home, and she doesn't quite know what she's meant to do now. She twiddles her thumbs, then smoothes down an invisible crease on her pant leg.

She could move to Africa.

She could take singing lessons.

She could sleep in and have breakfast in bed every day. Eat her mother's home-made pancakes and play with her nephews. Maybe get a dog. Or dye her hair purple. She can do whatever she wants.

She's free.

Yet she seems unable to make herself walk home.

Apart from her, the assembly room is empty. Everyone has left and she can't really put her finger on why she hasn't followed suit. She shifts in her seat and frowns a little. Considering how long she's been gone, you'd think they'd have managed to replace these damn uncomfortable chairs by now. She shifts again, trying to ignore the way her butt is going numb. She should have left when the decommissioning ceremony ended, but hours later, here she still is. Alone, in an uncomfortable chair, mulling over everything that's been said about her and wondering what it means to be free. She surely thought happiness would be part of it, but that's not what she's feeling.

Actually, she's not feeling much of anything, but she chalks it up to exhaustion and thinks it will be better tomorrow.

Yes, she decides, there's nothing to worry about, she's sure it'll come. And with happiness; relief, joy, exuberance and energy will follow. She has a whole new life ahead of her, and as soon as she's gotten some sleep she'll start enjoying it. At least emptiness has one redeeming quality. It's kept the grandiose words they've used to describe her from going to her head. She shudders at the thought.

They've said she's a sensation. That she's done the impossible, bringing a hundred and forty-six people back to the Alpha Quadrant with her. It's a feat beyond praise. It's a miracle and she's a miracle-worker.

They all seem to conveniently forget that she was the one who stranded those hundred and forty-six people in the Delta Quadrant to begin with.

They all seem to conveniently forget that there were more people with her when the journey started.

She blanches, and closes her eyes. The fate of the dead can't be changed and she's accepted that. She just wishes they weren't so easily overlooked in Starfleet's need for heroes.

She's been told that she's a phenomenon. She has done the unthinkable, and her accomplishments are unparalleled by any officer. She almost giggles, because despite their praise, this hard-working, unyielding, visionary—this miracle worker—is still unable to make herself head out those doors and back to the house she's just bought.

Irony is a funny thing.

A door opens, and she knows it's for her. She's caught between lukewarm thankfulness that someone's come to throw her out, and dull annoyance at the same thing. She keeps her eyes closed and hopes the fifth pip on her collar will serve its purpose, whatever that may be. That's when she recognises the sound of his steps. She opens her eyes and watches him approaching. He stops in front of her and they stare at each other. She should hardly be surprised he's there. It appears the walls have eyes and someone's obviously let on to him that she hasn't left.

Habit demands he make sure she's alright, but he doesn't seem to know where to start.

Neither of them says anything. He knows her better than anyone, maybe even better than she knows herself. He's her best friend, yet he's a stranger to her now. The Alpha Quadrant separates them, and several thousand light years from when they first met, he stands before her as someone she used to know. A man she has no hold on anymore. She thinks of the woman who waits for him back home and feels that she has no choice.

She rises from her seat and does her duty, a hand lightly placed on his chest.

"I stand relieved, commander," she says quietly, and she doesn't waiver as she lets him go, "and so do you."

His eyes are glued to hers and he shakes his head, a humourless chortle escaping him. She feels the brick wall between them keenly and doesn't know what else to say. She wishes she knew what he's thinking, that she could read him like she used to. But she can't, and this is the way it should be, so she moves away from him instead. She turns for the door, but before she can escape he grabs her hand and she stops, forcing herself to look back at him. This time there's no confusion. She sees his anger clear as day, although she doesn't know if it's directed at her or at himself. He drags her back to him, and hugs her tight. He buries his nose in her hair, crushing her to his chest. She returns the hug and for the briefest of moments she feels like she's going to fall apart. A rush of emotions wells up within her, but her self-preservation has been honed to perfection and the feeling disappears as quickly as it appeared. She goes limp in his arms and he feels it, letting her go immediately. They break apart and again they stare at each other, something akin to resentment colouring the blues of her eyes, tired resignation reflected in his.

"Aye, captain," is all he says.

And so she leaves.

She walks home alone, somewhat surprised at how little she actually cares about what's just happened. She'd always thought she'd be devastated if he ever disappeared from her world, that she'd be a wreck and would struggle to pick herself back up again. But she feels nothing. No sadness, no need to rage and cry, no sense of loss.

Nothing.

And it doesn't occur to her that it should frighten her.

She reaches her house. Boxes and buckets of paint fill the living room, but she completely ignores the scene, like she's done since she moved in. She shrugs off her jacket, takes off her shoes and heads upstairs.

She crawls into bed and soon after is fast asleep.

***

She wakes early next morning to the sound of rain beating on her window.

She gets out of bed and pulls the curtains to the side. San Francisco greets her, misty-eyed and sorrowful, a grey veil covering the city.

Fitting.

Kathryn goes back to bed. She pulls the covers tightly around her and sleeps the day away.

And the next day.

And the next.

***

By the end of the week she finally manages to make it out of bed for longer than half an hour at a time.

She walks into the living room and rummages through one of the boxes until she finds a mug. She makes herself some tea and heads outside.

She likes the house. It's on its own, away from prying neighbours, and it has a garden attached to it. She notes that the grass could use a cut, and tells herself she'll get to it a little later. She stretches and ignores how the morning dew makes her feet wet. She sits down, letting the dew soak through her pyjama bottoms, and sips her tea.

She watches the sun rise and thinks of all the things she's going to do. She's let the brass know that she will take the year's leave they've offered her, and she's decided that she's going to use the time to touch up the house, visit friends and family. Maybe travel a bit.

She tells herself that she'll start unpacking as soon as she's had a shower, brushed her teeth, and cut the grass. She feels the warmth of the sun and she knows it's a good day.

She just doesn't feel it.

She tells herself that she needs to give it time. It's only been a week. She needs to let her body get used to not doing anything. She needs to teach herself how to relax again. She lies down in the grass and tells herself that this is a good way to start. She falls asleep and wakes up three hours later with a splitting headache and a sunburned face.

The grass doesn't get cut that day and she doesn't unpack her boxes.

***

After a month and a half have passed, she starts to suspect that she's struggling with more than just exhaustion, though she isn't sure she minds. She finds that this never-ending emptiness is serving her just as well as the Captain's Mask did on _Voyager_. It keeps her from thinking, and that's probably a good thing.

She watches the buckets of paint and chews her lip.

A third of her boxes has been unpacked out of necessity, the rest are left as they've been. She grabs a brush and dips it in paint, then puts it to the wall. One stroke and a warm mahogany colour appears. She takes a step back and admires her handy work. She grabs another brush, dips it in another bucket and this time a clear blue streak emerges. She stares at it and suddenly thinks of icy waters and the death of loved ones.

And the shock of it makes her drop the brush on the floor.

She feels the bile in her throat and curses herself for missing the signs. She can deal with anything, just not this. She's been here before and it nearly destroyed her. It nearly destroyed her family. She decides then and there that she won't put them through that again, and for the next few weeks she avoids her mother's calls and her sister's messages.

Depression has been confused with exhaustion, and outside, the grass is still uncut.

***

She hears the front door open and frowns from where she sits on the floor of her living room, half-hidden by her still-unpacked boxes and buckets of paint. She knows who it is, and she knows she's in for an ear-full.

She's defensive and she sips her tea in annoyance as the steps come closer. The door pushes open and Gretchen Janeway enters. She sees Kathryn, says nothing, but walks over to the window and pulls the curtains aside in one rapid movement. Kathryn has to shield her eyes from the invading lights and in that moment, she hates her mother with all her might.

It only lasts for the briefest of seconds though, because Gretchen knows and changes the filter settings of the glass, allowing the light to sift through a little less intensely than before.

Kathryn stares at the woman before her and relishes the venom she feels surging through her, hissing for her to let it out in spiteful words and angry glares. When she lashes out it gives her a short burst of satisfaction and she clings to it like a security blanket. Another six weeks have passed and the emptiness is gone, replaced by a spectre of negativity that is all-consuming, claustrophobic and comforting at the same time.

At least she feels something.

Irritated, she thinks that she should have known that Gretchen and Phoebe wouldn't take her self-imposed isolation in stride. She may be a good actress, but she's not _that _good, and the lies she's told about being okay and too busy for visits have fallen on deaf ears.

The truth is they've probably known about her depression longer than she has. And they refuse to be shut out.

Kathryn wants to spare them her confused mind and darkened moods. If she can't be the Kathryn she was before she left, she'd rather they didn't see her at all. She's put them through hell, and now that she's finally back, she's doing the same thing all over again. She doesn't know how to be Kathryn anymore. She doesn't know how to be a normal person. On _Voyager_ she had a purpose. What does she have on Earth? She doesn't want her family to see her like this, and she wants them to leave her alone.

The venom rears up in her, and she opens her mouth to tell her mother to get the hell out of her house.

Gretchen beats her to it. "Save it, Katie," she says, her voice strong and firm. "I'm not leaving until you've had a shower and something to eat."

The two women stare at each other, one glare lethal, the other patient and unyielding. Kathryn's fighting her mother with all she's got, but all she's got is nothing to write home about and she can't stop it when her eyes drift away and down to the floor.

_Damn her_, Kathryn thinks. Damn her for being so difficult to hate. Damn her for doing exactly what Kathryn needs.

She can't do anything but surrender, and puts her cup of tea down on the floor. She pushes herself off the ground and pulls a face when her hips protest wildly at the movement. She meets her mother's eyes again, ready to attack, but instead, out of nowhere, unwanted tears force their way to the surface and spill down her cheeks.

Gretchen is there in an instant, warm hands brushing the tears away. "It _will_ get better," she promises as she cups her daughter's face.

Kathryn has a million acidic remarks on the tip of her tongue, but when she opens her mouth to speak, only one word escapes her, tiny and quiet.

"When?"

"I don't know."

Anger flares up within her again and she wrenches herself away. "Well, that's not particularly helpful, is it? It's been three months and all I can do is sit in this damn room drinking tea I don't even like and wait for the walls to paint themselves."

Gretchen grabs Kathryn's elbow and forces her daughter to stay where she is. "You've got to give it time."

Kathryn scoffs, trying to pull away. She isn't able to, and she grudgingly thinks that her mother is freakishly strong for a seventy-five year old woman.

"You've always been impatient, Katie," Gretchen keeps going, "but this you can't rush. You're grieving and you can't expect that to pass in a day or two just because you want it to."

Her words stop Kathryn's struggle and she stares at her mother. "I'm what?"

"You're grieving."

Kathryn shakes her head. No, her mother is wrong. She's made her peace with the dead. She's grieved for them and she knows their passing can't be changed.

"Rubbish," she says. "My dead crew members can't be brought back to life. I know that, and I know I can't change the past. I've come to terms with that. I'm not grieving."

"It's not the dead I'm talking about," Gretchen says knowingly as she gently squeezes her daughter's elbow.

Kathryn's left completely puzzled and can't even think to object when her mother says as she turns to leave, "Now get your behind into the shower while I start supper. You smell."

***

Another week comes and goes and Kathryn has done nothing but try to decipher the meaning of her mother's words. She's too stubborn to ask her directly, and she's smart enough to know that Gretchen won't tell her anyway.

She drinks her tea, and spends most of her day going through personality profiles of _Voyager's_ crew, hoping they might offer some kind of believable explanation to… whatever it is she's trying to find an explanation to.

By the tenth day she's just as clueless and she starts to get bored, so she does the unthinkable and finally unpacks the remaining boxes.

***

It's the end of July, almost four months since the decommissioning ceremony, when Kathryn is woken by a sound she can't place. It's loud and annoying and she rubs her eyes in a vain attempt to wake up, before stumbling out of bed and over to the window. Pulling the curtain aside she looks out and nearly yelps in surprise.

She leaves the curtains half open and grabs a robe on her way down. Opening her back door she enters the garden, but her mind isn't working and instead of saying something she just stands there watching the man work.

When he finally sees her, he turns off the lawn-mower and grins. "If Mohammed won't come to the mountain…"

Kathryn feels the sting of guilt prick at her for ignoring countless of dinner invitations, but he quickly changes the subject, still smiling, obviously not one to hold a grudge. "You know, captain, it's a beautiful garden. It wouldn't kill you to cut the grass every once in a while."

She laughs then, and the sound is so foreign to her that it takes a moment before she realises what she's actually doing. "That's admiral to you, Mister Paris. I might not be on active duty, but my days as your captain are over."

And the truth of the statement hits her like a ton of bricks.

Tom senses the change in her immediately, and his grin falters. He looks at her and she sees that he's trying to understand, but he also knows her and instead of asking, he does something she will always cherish him for.

He claims to be thirsty and walks inside.

When the tears come, she doesn't fight them. She knows what her mother meant, and she was right. Kathryn _is_ grieving, but not for her dead crew members or for stranding them all in the Delta Quadrant to begin with.

She's grieving for _Voyager_ and life she had onboard. She's grieving for her scattered family and she's grieving for the people she knows she'll inevitably lose touch with. She thinks of cramped quarters and recycled air; she remembers pool games and Talaxian chily, arguments in her ready room, and glorified toasters. She remembers people, and she cries until there's nothing left to do but wipe her eyes and take a steadying breath.

She doesn't know how long it takes her, but when she finally calms down, she knows that something's changed.

And Tom, bless him, pretends that nothing's happened and finishes mowing the lawn.

The next day she cleans the house from top to bottom and plants flowers in the garden.

The day after that, she goes to the pound, and that night she falls asleep with dog breath on her face.

***

Three days have passed since Tom's visit when she gathers the personnel files in front of her again, and gets to work.

She goes through each one, contacting every person. She even manages to get a hold of Neelix, thanks to the help of Reginald Barclay. She arranges visits to those who live within transporter range, and she promises those who live too far away to call again in a couple of weeks. She knows things will never be the same again, but this is her family and she wants to keep them in her life.

She _needs_ to keep them in her life.

After three weeks of catching up, there are only two files left. She stares at them and isn't sure why she's feeling so apprehensive. She's learned from various sources that the relationship between the pair has been over for quite some time. Not that that should really mean something to her.

Or should it?

Regardless, Seven is the first one she contacts.

The two of them chat amicably, or at least as amicably as an ex-Borg is capable of. Kathryn is on her second cup of tea when it happens, and looking back it shouldn't really come as a surprise that it's an off-beat comment from Seven that forces Kathryn to see what she's refused to face for almost eight years.

As life altering revelations go, this one is served with little fanfare and comes in the form of a simple question.

"You are drinking tea?"

Kathryn doesn't quite know what Seven is getting at, but she's learnt to go with the flow where the former drone is concerned, and she nods. "Yes, cinnamon."

"Why?" Seven asks.

Kathryn chuckles a little. "Why not?"

"Cinnamon tea is not to your liking."

Kathryn has no idea what to say to that, but the more she thinks about it, the scarier it becomes. When was the last time she had a decent cup of coffee?

From her side of the monitor, Seven watches as her former captain looks at the cup in her hand as if it's a bomb ready to go off at any moment. She allows the older woman some time, then offers a little piece of information that seems prudent at this particular time.

"Cinnamon is Chakotay's favourite brand of tea."

Kathryn's eyes snap up to Seven's then settle on the mug again. She finally manages to tell the other woman that she'll have to comm her back later, and signs out. She keeps staring at the mug and one solitary thought swirls through her head.

She's in love with him.

***

It's taken her five months, but she's finally picked a colour.

After her conversation with Seven, a talk which Kathryn has aptly named the Cup of Revelation, she's ended up doing the one thing she probably shouldn't have: completely ignoring anything and everything that has to do with Chakotay and focused on doing up her house instead. A warm honey colour already decorates most of the living room, and Kathryn has just started on the last wall, when the chime calls.

She doesn't hear it the first time it rings, the sound muted by Verdi's _Va, Pensiero_. It's Ellie's barks that alert her in the end and she drops the brush into the nearest bucket. Ignoring the drops of paint that splash over her right leg, Kathryn hurries to the front door, trying to catch Ellie by the collar as she tells whoever's on the other side to enter.

In hindsight, she should probably have suspected that he'd catch wind of how she contacted everyone in the crew but him, and as such it's somewhat embarrassing that she's so completely thrown off when she finally finds herself face-to-face with him. She almost crashes into him as she lunges for the dog, and he has to grab her shoulders to keep her from falling. The door closes behind him and Kathryn lets go of Ellie. Their eyes meet and they do nothing but stare at each other, much the same as they did five months ago.

It's he who breaks the silence first.

"You forgot one." Chakotay smiles a little and she's almost shocked to see the change in him, that he's no longer a stranger to her. It's him, her best friend, and though it's slightly awkward, the wall between them is no longer there. Bizarre, she thinks, that he, after seven years together, could be so foreign to her, yet after five months apart, he's the one she's always known.

"I'm sorry," she finally manages to say. "I didn't forget, I just…" she doesn't know what to say, but ends up with the truth. "I was scared. You were the one conversation I needed to get completely right and—" she falters a little. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me."

He smiles again, and she has to as well when he says, "For such a brilliant mind, you might be one of the most dim-witted people I've ever known."

He grabs her hand, the same way he did five months ago, and pulls her to him. "We obviously have a lot to talk about," he whispers in her hair as his arms encircle her and he hugs her tightly. "There will never be a time when I wouldn't want to see you."

The relief she feels is monumental and she hugs him back, smiling as he pulls her even closer.

"I'm so sorry," she says again, her voice muffled by his shoulder, and he knows she's not just apologising for the missing call.

"I'm sorry too," he answers, silently telling her that the distance that developed between them was just as much his fault as hers.

They finally break apart as Ellie keeps dancing around them, barking at this stranger who has come into her house. Chakotay, still holding Kathryn's hand in his, crouches down and allows the dog to sniff the palm of his other. Ellie stops barking, tries to identify the unfamiliar smells this thing has brought with it, then carefully licks at his hand.

"She likes you," Kathryn smiles.

"I'm glad," Chakotay answers, petting the dog's head before he rises. "I need all the brownie points I can get." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Kathryn laughs.

He moves closer, a thumb coming up to wipe a spot of paint from her chin, and she feels her breath hitch and her heart skip a couple of beats. She's sure he knows it too, because his thumb lingers and his eyes meet hers. She can't help it when her tongue darts out to moisten her lips. His smile broadens as he sees it and she can't even find the grace to blush, because at that point he mumbles, "What the hell," and then he kisses her. His lips are soft on hers and she immediately responds, grabbing a hold of his shirt to pull him closer.

And then it's finally there, the feeling Kathryn has been waiting for ever since _Voyager_ burst through that Borg hive and into the Alpha Quadrant.

The feeling she associates with freedom and the ability to whatever you want. The feeling she'll later associate with him.

Happiness.


End file.
